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Grace Mar 2014
“Oh, you're a sprinter” they say
“you aren't really a runner”

Long distance people don't understand you see
They don't know what a pulling hamstring feels like
They don't know what running with pure adrenaline feels like
They don't know what not being able to breath while running feels like

You see, we sprinters have it down to a science
Practicing starts before the race is key
Pre race rituals are the law
If we don't warm up enough or warm up too much or forget to stretch one muscle
We could be out for the season

Sign in. Warm up some more

They call my race
I pull off my pants and shake out my legs
Double knot my spikes
Finally, my jacket comes off
I step up to the start and set my blocks

My brain becomes so numb with nervousness, the motions become mechanical
Two foot lengths away from the line, first block
Three foot lengths away from the line, second block
Bring my first block up two clicks
My second up three

“Runners, take your marks.”
Tuck jump
Shake out my legs
I tell myself “Remember: low, and drive”
Because there is too much to think about all at once
I lower myself on my knees
Wipe my hands on my spandex
Double check that my shirt is tucked in, my spikes are tied
Shake out my right leg and place it in the block
Shake out my left leg and place it in the block, toes barely touching the ground
Place my hands as close to the line as possible-about two inches to each side of my shoulders
I look down, check my blocks
Look up, at the finish-I will be there in less than a minute
If all goes as planned
I swing my hair so it's on my left side
Head down, look at my hands
Shoulders parallel with my arms and perpendicular to the ground
Just like practice

“Get set”
My heart is pounding
I can’t hear anything
I slowly raise my hips
It takes less than one second to become perfect
Just like practice

BANG

I shoot out of the blocks
Left arm jerks forward and my right thrashes back
I pull my stride in, getting into perfect form
Just like practice

I tune out all of the screams around me
The voices inside my head telling me to slow down
You're running too fast
You're about to pull a muscle
Give up already

But I keep running because I don't care about the voices in my head or the sprinters beside me
I race against time
An irrevocable substance that will always win

I finish the race, maybe not my best, but I did alright for my first meet in a year.
Finally eyeing my time I let go of the breath I have subconsciously been holding
I ran my best and now my lungs are reminded what it's like to taste air

Long distance runners don’t have to worry about any of this
They just have to make sure their toes aren't touching the line
Theres no science involved
If they warm up too long or not enough, it may cost them a few seconds
Seconds are all we have

Ever wonder why long distance runners are so nice to each other and sprinters aren't?
Because before every race we sprinters are too nervous to talk to one another
Everyone is silently praying that the  person next to them won’t toss their cookies
Then again, maybe its better if they did because I might have a better shot at getting first
After the race, I am too stunned-too out of breath to realize what just happened
Or to talk to the person next to me

Sprinters only have a mere couple of seconds to prove themselves
Long distance runners can take their time
They have at least two laps to prove themselves
Sometimes even sixteen

I don’t realize that I love racing
That I love not being able to breathe
Until I cross that finish line
And then I want to do it all over again
Eefs Jungmann Nov 2014
People pass by me,
   from all  every direction
even in winter snow.

From exhausted firemen,
      expectant mothers,
               forgotten children,
         marathon sprinters.
    Even grumbling men carrying heavy, ancient computer printers.

Each have their share and take their turn on me, the local sheltered, secluded
seat.
Even if only for a deep breath and a break or a little body
heat.
    
   Bags and books, all sorts of things have been dropped or left on me, proposals have even happened here, you
name it.
If you don't believe it, come see for yourself and
frame it.
Sorry for the random ramblings, my first attempt at rhyming. Feedback/comments are welcome, and enjoy as always!x
Grace Mar 2014
I try to control every variable
Just like an experiment
Like a mad scientist
If something goes wrong it could cost some blood
A hamstring
My shins

My heart is pounding like a runaway train
Chugging along and always speeding up that it sometimes trips over itself in my chest
Fluttering

I tune out everything except for the official

I set my blocks
I am already trying to catch my breath to calm the butterflies in my stomach
I wipe my hands on my spandex
They're covered in sweat

I let out a shaky breath. Telling myself "You know the drill"

"Ladies stand in your lanes"
I do a couple tuck jumps
Double check my spikes, my hair
I shake out my hands hoping to wipe off the nervousness
But know deep inside my heart that it's the only thing keeping me sane

"On your marks"
A sour taste forms in my mouth
All I can do now is think about my start
Another variable I become the master of
Low and drive
I get on my trembling hands as I slide my feet in the blocks
I inhale-my breath quivering
I peer ahead at the finish line in front of me
It's so close yet oh so far away

"Set"
Is there a word for when all of your potential energy instantly turns into kinetic?
All of your nervousness turning to pure adrenaline?

Is there a word for that split second after the gun goes off?
For what it feels like when my muscles stretch and scream for oxygen?
My mind goes blank
I can't hear any of the yelling or my runaway heartbeat
I don't think about who's beside me

This race isn't about the competitors next to me
It's the clock
That irrevocable tick that means almost everything
That horrendous voice inside my head saying I am too tired
Slow down
My legs weren't made for this
But I know deep down inside that it's my brain trying giving up

I keep running because I don't care about the voices in my head or the sprinters beside me
I race against time
An irrevocable substance that will always win
But I was born to run

Is there a word for when your brain gives up and you are running with pure adrenaline and heart?

Is there a word for running so fast time slows down? You can hear your mothers pleads, your fathers coaching, your friends reassurance as you pass by but it doesn't even process until after you are done

You can feel every millisecond in your toes when you spikes dig into the track

You can feel everything that could have gone wrong but somehow went right and you don't even register it until after

I make it to the finish line in one piece
My muscles are tight and my lungs are trying to catch up with my racing heart
My head is pounding and I don't remember what just happened
But I get a feeling that it was something wonderful
I can't find a word for it

I wish there was because  I would have already said it by now
Theron Aidan Feb 2013
Gray eyes
Sometimes blue
Sometimes green
Mostly slate, no phyllite
Sometimes schist
And sometimes, when all other hope is gone
Shale

Crooked nose
Broken, bloodied
Put a band-aid on it
It's still proud
Proof of heritage and blood

High cheekbones
Finely sculpted
Match the proud nose

Thin lips
Pink, not red
Set in a straight line
Seldom smiling
Sometimes laughing

Broad shoulders
Strong arms
A chest that contains a heavy heart

Pianists fingers
Long and slender
Nimble
Quick
Bound by a ring on the left hand
Scars

Powerful legs
Sprinters feet
Bad knees
Scars

Things in between
Head and feet
Don't quite belong
But over time
Are no longer noticed

See the soul
Not the body
Live happily
this year the imported ponies
are the ones to beat
as they've got more staying power
in their feet

long distance racing
suits their genetic makeup
over a mile they'll
keep firing up

our horses are sprinters
who can dash
but that style of racing
shall ne'er win the cash
Hallie Bear Jul 2012
She was as elegant as winds shadow.
In other words invisible
Her otter skin eyes pool in oak trees
Every ripple of leaves a whim. 
A tear.
She cries the dripping watercolors of fall
Her boughs dances the florescence of spring
Busy sprinters lick over her presented nuances
Passed by every moment
No one notices the silent hover of self made lush
Anymore.
I'd love some harsh criticisms please :)
Jennifer Marie Dec 2010
He smelled like a fall evening –
                      the distinct mix of dusty leaves, hay, and candy apples
                                          combined with pumpkins and acorns.
So I let him take my hand, his fingers weaving in between mine,
                  the way the October stars gently twisted through the sky.
                                            And we stood and looked up.
For the longest time, there was silence save for the sound of
                  a seventy-year old’s clapping shoes as she strolled across the
                            dance floor, on her way to do-si-do with her husband.
Appalachian hills gleamed under the harvest moon, as he smiled,
                      asked if I would like to run through the corn maze with him.
I said yes, of course I would, and would he be able to keep up with
                     the six-year old sprinters who would beat us to the finish?
He laughed, and the clouds overhead dispersed, revealing only velvet atmosphere.
                                   We ran for minutes, tripping over our
shoelaces, occasionally being startled by the tractor toting happy families
                                        who were on hayrides together. But we made it
To the finish, where we collapsed on the cool dirt, grasping our sides and
                                         laughing as loud as we could.
- From Love Letter
deuynn Oct 2018
drip
drip
drip

the rain
falls
streaming into the
gutters that led below

falls
running down the rivets of
dancing umbrellas like
sprinters in a
race, each drop competing to be
the first to hit the ground

droplets fall and
hang
from leaves and
fall
onto the wet earth
slowly the
next drop falls and the
next

small creatures hide in
their cozy hollows of
trees they call
home
watching the tears of the sky
fall

umbrellas that were just
weaving through crowds of
others just
moments ago
are set to dry on porches
and the umbrellas are
soaked
and their tears start to
hit
the
ground

drip
drip
drip
My second poem. Thought it deserved to be on here.
Alexander Ross Aug 2013
You know that I like you a lot,
But this is just the thickening of the plot,
You love elephants, just like you they never forget, wise beyond your young years, golden hair pushed behind delicate ears
You can walk as slow as a Turtle, but in your face lies a sprinters hurdle,
And there were freckles asking to play connect the dots upon your  shell, With one look upon your precious face i could clearly see that you had just walked through hell, and your feet were tired and had begun to swell, but you still greatly longed for your home in the sea
I asked if you wanted to stay , and have a conversation with me, you said you weren't quite sure, for calling your name was the ocean floor, but You wanted to look upon my face for a little while more
Arlene Corwin Aug 2016
This one was written in 1996 for the then Olympics when fashions seem to have gotten that bit more exposed.  Embarrassingly brazen. Not always a welcome sight.                                            
Olympic Games Nineteen Ninety ****
  (a reminder for 2016 Olympics too)

Forgive me God, forgive me folk,
I’ve got to make this little joke.
I’m not a girl who’s often ******-
After all, I practice Yoga,
Keeping mind and body pure:
Mostly mind.  But I have eyes,
And one Olympic year the sure-
Fire fashion for the thighs
And ***** were shorts exposing all.
When I say all, I mean the ball,
The bell, the ****-.
God, how they knocked!
And while the race was being clocked
The racers showed what Adam hid;
And while I tried to watch the race
My eyes kept dropping to that place.
I couldn’t help myself.  They slid
To dingling, dangling, banging things –
Some small, some large, and all these kings
Of sport diminished in my eyes.
I didn’t wish to see their size,
For I was there to see the sprinters
And the long jump and the discus,
Knowing that they’d spent long winters
Practicing like titans.  Now the viscous
Summer days, all damp and sweaty,
While the world with its confetti
Waited to exalt its heroes,
It was long, short ***** that hit my eyes.
May athletes, trainers, sponsors wise,
Fashion moguls on the rise
Remember, modesty is also prize.

Olympic Games Nineteen Ninety *** 8.16.1996/ revised 8.6.2003/revised 8.5.2016)
Our Times, Our Culture;

arlenecorwinpoetry.com/duanespoetree.com/youtube
Travis Frank Sep 2018
A swarm of blue and white
Shot-putters hurdlers sprinters javelins long and high jumpers
Congregate before esteemed guests whom the PTA did invite
To secretly scoff at losers and worship winners.

Not quick or strong,
All I could do was jump high.
Alwyn came in stone last in the cross country after long.
Poor chap – their sneering and booing made him cry.

Soon after, it was my turn,.
Third jump – down went the pole.
Alas! – one corner poked me in the back. The pain, the burn!
Need something sweet for the shock, like a Swiss roll.

Into the common room I went,
Where smoky, limp athletes unwound with a movie.
There I encountered three foes infernally-sent.
Alwyn was among them – out to get me.

“Why are you crying?” one goon prodded.
“I got hurt by a pole,” was all I could muster.
At this, Alwyn’s raucous laughter erupted and exploded.
One day I’ll get you, buster.

Didn’t you cry moments ago when they sneered at you?
So, your solution is to do as the Romans do?
Syd Mar 2018
When you are here
The quiet feels so soothing
Peaceful
The sounds of a long day filled with laughter, love and storytelling are finally coming to an end
Where we lay our heads down on a bed that feels like the finish line from the race
Of the best day of my life
Tranquil
And when you are gone
The quiet feels so heavy
Overwhelming with thoughts that race through my mind like Olympic sprinters
Chasing down the next conversation I get with you
Filling the silent air with all the things I wish I could tell you now, in this moment
The bed feels different now, each night I lay down in this marathon of missing you
Wishing I could sit with you in silence
Smiling in the darkness as the conversation holds us
The only words we say, I love you, I love you, I love you
Anisah Mar 2020
Lining up in rows waiting for the music,
Dancing in the puddles counting seconds, counting bruises.
Waiting for forever for a never ending cause,
Wishing for a well that's filled with open windows open doors.
The sky is thickening with the things that have been done;
Leaking with regrets of present thoughts, it might be fun!
As the tone is drumming, the sprinters run off blind
But when the drumming stops, oh the horrors you will find.
One leg in front another and before you know you'll fly,
But the angels don't take killers, manipulated or the wry.
Saving all the people living in your narrow minded view,
The angels that you follow will make demons out of you.
scope me again
into nothingness

here am i found
brushing fingertips
on
moonbeams

talk of moth bitten butterflies
light chasers with sprinters wing
reflections off their glitter sing
you could never catch me


catch me we sculpt
it is written in the stars
it has been written in the stars
that my emotions tremble
with sand

what sand trembled
ask
me
as
the
earth quakes

this valve for the duct of mine tears
caterpillar to me that we may cacoon
pleasure has resistance on no ends
seen into the cons
of
an
spiders dream


see her lips on me
catch me beyond this dream
catch me
beyond
wit
ended
?


















...
..
.
baggage
Colm Mar 2021
You're not captured in your paint,
compelled by stills,
or encompassed by song at all, my friend

No descriptive words can color your sky,
no sprinters length catch you without breath,
or fail to float the fly on the wind, no less

That is unless you let them say
what you are not,
is all you are, untrue

For you are the essence, embodied, reborn
not what anyone else says
or thinks they know of you
Big Virge Aug 2021
There’s ALWAYS...  
MUCH To CONSIDER...  

When It Comes To...  
... FAMOUS Figures...  

Who Are QUICKER To Pull Triggers...  
Than The Best Olympic Sprinters... !!!  
  
Cos' There Are Always...  
... BIGGER PICTURES...  
  
Where There’s ALWAYS...  
... Someone QUICKER...  
Who Wants To Prove They’re SINNERS...  
  
BIGGER Than New Escobars’...  
And Guys Like Nicky Barnes... !!!  
  
TRUE ORIGINAL Gangstas’...  
  
Who Like Jeru' Are REAL DAMAGERS...  
of Crews of Dudes Whose Managers...  
Employ The BADDEST Characters... !!!  
  
Like Bikers Who...  
Are Sent From HELL...  
To BLAZE With RAGE...  
To Make Heads SWELL... !!!  
  
Like ALI When He DANCED...  
Around Fighters With NO CHANCE... !!!  
  
To Counter How He’d BLISTER...  
With Punches That Were SLICKER...  
Than ANY GQ Mister...  
Or BEAUTIFUL... HOT Sista'... !!!  
  
So DON'T Be QUICK...  
To Be A FOOL And RUSH IN...  !!!  
  
Because Some of These Chicks...  
...... Act SICK...... !!!  
  
When It Comes To ****... !!!  
That They CAN'T RESIST...  
That They Want To Fit...  
In Between Those Lips... !!!  
  
Because The Next Thing Is...  
The ARRIVAL of... Kids... !!!
  
So It’s Best To THINK...  
And CONSIDER Things...  
BEFORE You Get Tricked...  
And Start To SINK...
  
Because Your Ship...  
... TITANICALLY Drifts.....  
Until You're... DROWNED...  
Cos Your Thoughts WEREN'T Sound... !!!  
  
Like A GREEDY ****...  
Whose Business STINKS... !!!  
  
Because of Links...  
Who Are QUICK To Bring...  
... Bullets That HIT...  
HARDER Than Drug Liks’...  
That Make Man SNIFF...  
Just Like SCARFACE Did... !!!  
  
WITHOUT Acting In A Pacino Flick... !!!  
  
It’s Best To CONSIDER...  
Before You Pull Triggers...  
If You AIN'T John Wick... !!!  
  
See I’m A LYRICIST...  
Whose Lyrical Gifts...  
Are Those That Enlist...  
The Type of Lyrics...  
  
That Are Those That Show...  
... Which Way To Go...  
  
When It Comes To Dark Roads...  
That Lead To Black Holes... !!!  
  
YES The... Types of Zones...  
That Can Cut TOO CLOSE...  
To The Bones of Those...  
Who Follow FOOLS Gold... !?!  
  
I Consider The TOLL...  
That Goes With Cargos...  
That Get EXPOSED...  
Within Ships Holds...  
That Face Embargo’s...  
Because of Coc’...  
And Dopes Who Roll...  
  
Into The... "GRIP"...  
of Police Well Equipped...  
To END A Mans' Wish...  
To Be A Drug Kingpin... !!!  
  
Who NEVER Considered...  
Being Cornered Like Tigger...  
WITHOUT Winnie Or Pooh... !!!!!  
  
Because I THINK Things Through...  
And Try To Be Shrewd...  
As Well As... COOL...  
In The Face of BAD News...  
That Can Lead To FEUDS... !!!  
  
With CARTELS Who Pull Moves...  
Like... COLOMBIANS Do... !!!!!!  
  
Who Are Quick To Collude...  
With Informants Who...  
Want To See You LOSE...  
So Will HAPPILY SHOOT... !!!
  
NO MATTER What Cost...  
It Takes To Be The BOSS...  
WITHOUT James Brown Songs...  
  
Or... HEAVY DUTY FUNK...  
Or The Type of Drums...  
That Made His Funk BUMP... !!!  
  
Like The Type of CHUMPS...  
Who Are... IGNORANT... !!!!!!!  
  
So Will Pull DUMB Stunts...  
That STINK Like A SKUNK...  
That Is CLEARLY FRIGHTENED... !!!  
  
So Is QUICK To Let Off...  
Something SO PUNGENT... !!!  
  
That It Makes You ILL...  
And Makes You Wanna ****...  
Like Uma' Did... BILL...  
In A Way That CHILLS... !!!  
  
And Makes You More BITTER...  
Than A CORNERED KILLER...  
In AN... MJ Thriller... !!!  
  
So I Hope That This Piece..  
of CONSIDERED Poetry...  
Has Helped You Young Guns See...  
  
That To Be A Smooth Criminal...  
You Need To Be An Individual...  
Who Has STRONG PRINCIPLES...  
That PROVE That You’re A THINKER...  
  
Who Recognises... THIS...  
VERY IMPORTANT THING... !!!  
  
To Be The Type of Figure...  
Who Inspires Clever Scripture...  
  
Cos’ You're COLDER Than A Blizzard...  
In The Midst of An Arctic Winter...  
  
You MUST SEE The...  
... BIGGER PICTURE... !!!  
  
Cos’ There Will ALWAYS Be...  

“ Things That You Need To Consider ! “
Inspired, in no small way, by, " El Patron Del Mal ", " Narcos ", and the lives of famous criminals, like a certain, Pablo Emilio Escobar Gaviria !

— The End —